


un soir, place de la république

by sehnsvcht



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Paris, FLUFF!!!!!!!! oh my god so much fluff, Fluff, I can only write fluff, M/M, Romance, i hate how cliché this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sehnsvcht/pseuds/sehnsvcht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This entire thing shouldn’t be happening. None of this should have happened, in fact—Yixing didn’t come to France to fall in love.<br/>But he did. Oh, he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	un soir, place de la république

**Author's Note:**

> This is the cheesiest, most disgusting, fluffiest thing I've ever written. This is what happens when I listen to romantic songs on late nights.
> 
> Title and inspiration comes from "[Place de la République](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyuPn4DPCdA)" by the lovely Coeur de Pirate. If you look up a translation for the lyrics, you'll understand.
> 
> It's one in the morning as I'm posting this, so bear with me and my eventual typos and mistakes. Comments and kudos are always incredibly appreciated; hope you enjoy this mess as much as I loved writing it :)

_December._

This entire thing shouldn’t be happening. None of this should have happened, in fact—Yixing didn’t come to France to fall in love.

But he did. Oh, he did.

Around him, the air is cold and his warm breath is coming out in white puffs from his chapped lips. His long coat is barely doing its job, despite reaching his knees; Yixing has it open (obviously) and hiding his hands in his pockets does a poor job at keeping them warm. The cream turtleneck he’s wearing at least manages to keep some of his body heat in.

Dark brown boots at his feet scrap the aerosol-painted tiles on the ground. A few stray dried leaves, a remainder of the autumn having long come to an end, crunch under his toes. When Yixing looks up to the sky, he finds puffy white clouds staring back at him.

It might snow soon, he muses silently. What a romantic thing that would be.

He wants to laugh at his thoughts, the giddiness in his gut pushing the giggles out, but he swallows them, helped with the apprehension of the meeting that’s about to take place. That’s really how it is—happy feelings mixed with fear, with dread; because all good things have to come to an end and it’s something Yixing doesn’t want to face, just yet.

A slight twirl gives him a quick preview of his surroundings; small crowds are spread out across the place, some being arranged in some form of protest, branding banners and shouting slogans, others consisting of skaters or tourists taking a stroll. Couples are also here and there, sitting on the steps next to the statue at the center or walking by the area only, holding hands and hiding smiles in each other’s necks.

Yixing sighs. He hadn’t thought, two or three months before, that the Place de la République would become a personal landmark to him, so important, like it seems to be today.

Yet, as he stands there, on an early evening in December, he seems to be seeing it for the millionth time, but through a pair of new eyes—the eyes of someone who sees something for the last time, knowing that if he ever gets to see it again, it won’t be the same.

And so, Yixing looks, observes, and waits.

He waits for Baekhyun.

***

_September._

The Paris Métro Line 2 elevates above the city, starting at the station Jaurès, when heading towards Porte Dauphine.

From Jaurès up until Barbès-Rochechouart, for a total of four stations, the metro runs on high rails, and it is possible to take in bits and pieces of Paris from the view. The Eiffel Tower stands high and far, but mostly, whenever Yixing embarks on the car, on his way to work, it is the narrow streets of the 10th arrondissement and the worn out, graffiti-covered warehouses he passes by that catch his attention. Despite the fast running vehicle around him, he tries his best to detail the little shops littering the streets and the people that walk them.

Yixing lives right by the Phillipe-Auguste station, in a modest apartment he rents for his short stay in the city. Every morning, Monday to Friday, he takes the metro, towards Porte Dauphine, and stops at Place de Clichy, where the publishing house he works at is located. It’s a very small thing—created by a bigger society to help promote Chinese culture and literature in Europe—but it’s nice, and even though Yixing is only set to stay a few months here, he loves the place. France is drastically different from China, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, in a good way.

Paris is romantic in a way that Shanghai isn’t; or rather, their charms are dissimilar. Paris perspires of history and a respect of the old, and while Shanghai does have many years of history under its belt as well, the Chinese city has become modern and much more fast-paced than the French capital could ever be.

An example of that resides in the cities’ metro systems; Yixing smiles as he recalls the hustle-bustle of the Shanghai subway, nearly chaotic as opposed to the calm service of Paris. The metro here gets busy too—incredibly so, especially on Line 1 during rush hours—but there’s still an element of peace to it that Yixing cannot quite pinpoint that Shanghai desperately lacks.

Maybe it’s only because he gets to watch the city unfold before him, every morning, from above as he rides the Line 2.

It’s warm for a September morning, but France has known quite a few hot summers these past few years, a few lasting longer than they should. This year seems to be no exception, and Yixing pulls at his short-sleeved button-up, making it unstick from his skin.

They’re starting to leave the Colonel Fabien station, just before Jaurès, when a voice startles him.

In fact, it seems to startle the entire car, as Yixing watches a few teenagers wake up with a jump from their commute slumber. Working class men, draped in cheap ready-made suits, shoot annoyed looks at something—or rather, someone—behind Yixing.

When Yixing slowly turns, he finds that the voice comes from there; more specifically, from a man possibly not older than him, with cotton-candy pink hair and sparkly eyes.

He’s singing, his voice loud but still sounding rather soft, like he’s singing to himself only despite clearly pushing at his tone to fill the entire car. He’s talented, Yixing admits; he doesn’t mind pulling at his earbuds and stopping his music, opting to listen to the stranger instead.

Yixing watches as many around him do the same, young girls looking seemingly awed by the young man, while others look only faintly interested, hiding their intrigue behind fake annoyance.

A few, Yixing notices, are truly put off by the singer, trying to move away from the car as much as possible. Their loss.

The song is in English, but the delivery is heavily accented. It’s a rendition of Amy Winehouse’s _You Know I’m No Good_ , completely acapella. The singer only has his voice with him, and Yixing praises his courage. Although it must not be scary, with a powerful voice like that. Yixing would be confident, too.

The cover is smooth and slow paced, the singer letting his words hang longer on an ending vowel at times and belting out the lyrics at others. Yixing smiles; he loves how the young man is keeping his makeshift audience on their toes, browsing the small crowd in the car with captivating eyes and there’s a smile on his lips when he catches a few startled, pleased looks.

When he meets Yixing’s eyes, Yixing only smiles, raising his eyebrows as a mark of encouragement, and the singer reciprocates his gesture, a mischievous glint to his dark slanted eyes.

The pink of his hair is a little ridiculous, but Yixing sort of finds it cute.

When the singer finishes his song, he stands up from the seat he was lounging in, and bows deeply, and Yixing’s smile persists. Then, Yixing notices the beanie in his hands, that he suddenly brandishes in front of him as he starts walking, expressing his thanks with a small, timid ‘merci’ or ‘thank you’ as he makes his way through the car.

“You were not bad, over there,” Yixing tells him with a clumsy English when he reaches him. His French is terrible, only good enough to order coffee and pay his groceries, and he still uses Mandarin at work. English is really his only option, despite how ridiculous he sounds. “I liked it.”

The stranger’s smile turns into a smirk when he catches sight of the 5-euro bill Yixing slips into his hat. “Thank you,” he says, an accent tilting around the words. “Glad you liked it,” he adds, but Yixing is thrown back at the sudden Korean.

“Korean, huh?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Nope, Chinese. I studied Korean in school, though.” Yixing follows the motion of the singer’s head as he nods slowly; it’s as though he somehow nods with his entire body, like every movement that comes from him encompasses him whole.

Maybe that’s how he does things, Yixing thinks. Wholeheartedly, passionately, with audacity.

“I see,” the stranger muses. He still has about a little under the half of the car to walk through, Yixing notes, if he wants to collect his money.

Instead, he plops down next to Yixing, who jumps slightly.

A hand is thrown just before his chest, long, slender fingers extended invitingly. “I’m Baekhyun,” the singer exclaims. “ _Enchanté_.”

Yixing laughs at the sudden French. “My name is Yixing,” he says, taking the hand in front of him. “ _Enchanté aussi_.”

And that’s how it starts—at Jaurès station, on a September morning, as the train escalates towards the sky and as Paris opens up through the windows below them, Yixing meets Baekhyun.

***

They meet and greet each other more and more often.

Baekhyun always gets on the train at Colonel Fabien, and always gets off at Pigalle, a few stops before Yixing’s. Therefore, they don’t talk for long—only small talk, in between Baekhyun’s performance and his imminent departure, but Yixing slowly takes pleasure in this thing they have going on, and is delighted to listen to Baekhyun sing, on some lucky mornings.

His covers range from old-school disco hits to modern-day Top 40 singles, and once or twice, he attempts to sing in French, and when he feels bold, in Korean.

Yixing learns that Baekhyun is here with his brother visiting and living with their uncle, and they’re both working a couple of part-time jobs. It’s when Baekhyun finds some time that he drops by the metro to try and pick up a few notes with his voice.

“It works out fine,” Baekhyun shrugs. “It’s like getting tips at the coffee shop, but better. I get to sing, and not burn myself with the espresso machine. My skin is sensitive, you know?”

Yixing also learns that Baekhyun is warm, in all the best ways—warm with kindness in the way he speaks of his brother and his parents and friends back home, warm and adorable in the way he wears thicker sweaters and drowns in them as the weather gets chillier, warm in the way he clings to Yixing, one October morning, and Yixing can feel heat seeping through his thin jacket from his arm where Baekhyun is slumped against him.

Slowly, Yixing notes that Baekhyun’s warmth isn’t something that’s just coming from him anymore—because he can feel it stir his limbs, too, when Baekhyun appears on some mornings and lends him a bit of his time.

It’s a good thing, Yixing thinks. October is chilly, and he can use a little extra warmth.

And company, too.

***

_December._

Baekhyun appears a little like a ghost.

As Yixing is scanning the crowd once again, he notices him, simply standing there, a few feet away, immobile and staring right back at him. It’s almost as though he just appeared at the spot, silently watching until Yixing would put his eyes on him.

Yixing takes a deep breath, and starts walking.

Baekhyun does the same, and they don’t break their eye contact until their chests hit each other, arms coming to embrace the other.

“I ran all the way over here,” Baekhyun presses against the skin just behind Yixing’s ear. He shivers slightly, but pulls Baekhyun closer nonetheless. “All along the Seine, before I turned right on some street and headed here. Romantic, innit?”

“You’re a terrible liar, Baekhyun,” Yixing chuckles, but it’s tainted with too much emotion to be taken seriously. “I bet you don’t live anywhere near the Seine.”

“Shut up, hyung, I’m trying.”

“I know, I know.”

Their embrace lasts longer than Yixing had expected, but it’s still not long enough, and when Baekhyun pushes away slightly, Yixing only wants to pull him back in.

He doesn’t. Instead, he keeps Baekhyun at an arm’s distance, still close enough to touch. “You’re freezing, aren’t you?”

“Just a little,” Baekhyun shrugs, but it turns into a shiver, and Yixing rolls his eyes.

Baekhyun is only wearing a flannel as a jacket, thrown over a white t-shirt that has seen better days. His jeans are ripped and show too much skin for the cold December. Yixing is tempted to warm up Baekhyun with his embrace, but he knows it would be harder to pull away if he hugs him a second time.

He sighs. “So.”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun drawls. He shoves his hands in his jean pockets, a thin-lipped, small smile on his face. “I guess this is it.”

Yixing takes a deep breath and nods. “This is it.”

***

_October._

Yixing knows very little about Baekhyun, but he guesses that’s just how it is, between commute friends. Or whatever it is that they are.

They don’t really meet outside of the metro train, so Yixing isn’t sure, really. Baekhyun also happens not to own a mobile phone, which had surprised Yixing when he asked, and Baekhyun had lifted his shoulders nonchalantly, explaining that he had no use for it.

“Don’t you have friends?” Yixing had asked as a joke.

Baekhyun had laughed loudly. “Oh, I do,” he had replied, “but not here. I call them once I get home; when it’s evening here, it’s morning or noon in Korea. I don’t need a mobile phone for imaginary friends, so.”

With no way to contact Baekhyun, Yixing is left with only hoping he’ll meet the young, charismatic man on a morning or the next, and it’s a little annoying, but Yixing goes along with it, because the surprise of their encounters is part of what he enjoys so much about it all.

He does know a few little things about Baekhyun, though. Yixing knows his humour and expressions, he knows his smiles by heart and the mischief in his eyes that sometimes softens into a fond glint that Yixing pretends to ignore. He also knows that Baekhyun only likes his coffee when it’s very sweet, flavoured, and basically loses all its coffee taste, and Yixing knows that Baekhyun loves music the most, and performing even more. Yixing knows, without asking, that singing is Baekhyun’s everything.

Yixing has an inkling for music himself—the guitar chords and lyrics scattered across stray paper sheets around his apartment are a proof of that. Sometimes, he likes to imagine another life in which he and Baekhyun are partners, Yixing on the guitar, Baekhyun settling for the vocals, and the pair of them play various small gigs, either here in little Paris cafés, or somewhere in the streets of Beijing or in the trendy bars of Hongdae.

Again, not knowing much about Baekhyun, his past and odd little things like the name of his high school crush or the story of his first kiss, is a little unusual, but Yixing doesn’t mind it; furthermore, it doesn’t keep Yixing from falling for him, slowly.

He doesn’t hide it to himself—Yixing is not one to edge away from his feelings, tiptoeing around them in a way that he finds ridiculous and pointless. He likes being honest, with himself and with the people around him.

So he doesn’t hide it to Baekhyun either; he doesn’t flat out confess, or anything, but he doesn’t hide it when he feels his cheeks blush at Baekhyun’s teasing comments, and doesn’t keep himself from complimenting his friend whenever he gets the chance. He doesn’t stop himself from reaching out, touching, a brush of hands or the press of their thighs as they ride in cheerful chatter.

Baekhyun plays along, so Yixing doesn’t worry, either.

***

The office has never been this busy.

Missed deadlines and stuttered apologies force Yixing to stay later to get everything done, some Thursday in late October. He gets more reviewing and editing done that evening than he usually does on his busiest days, and to say he’s exhausted is an understatement.

Instead of leaving the office at four o’clock, like he usually does, Yixing steps out of the small building of the publishing house at eight.

At this hour, the station is almost empty; save for a few tourists most likely on their way back to their hotel and a few couples on a night out. The train is no different, Yixing being able to find an available seat easily.

He’s about to doze off when a familiar face catches his attention.

They’re at Pigalle, and it shouldn’t surprise Yixing at all, when he sees Baekhyun’s faded pink head (although his hair is now more bleached blonde than pink, really). After all, he does see Baekhyun get off at the station a couple of mornings every week. He must take the train back, sometimes.

But it is surprising, because instead of the usual morning air sticking all around them, even underground, Yixing feels the weight of the day pressing over them, the night already well advanced outside, in the real world. It’s an atmosphere Yixing has yet to associate with Baekhyun.

But Baekhyun doesn’t notice him, taking a seat a few benches ahead of Yixing, so Yixing gets up and joins him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Yixing muses with a low voice, that turns into a giggle when Baekhyun startles next to him.

“Hyung,” Baekhyun breathes out. “Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” When Baekhyun turns to him, Yixing tilts his head, which has Baekhyun smiling. “Hello, there.”

“Hi. Are you on your way home?”

Baekhyun shrugs, before pulling his worn out army jacket tighter around his shoulders. “Something like that. I don’t live anywhere near the Line 2, but I felt like getting away, after work.”

Because he can, Yixing lets his head fall on Baekhyun’s shoulder, making himself comfortable. Baekhyun is warm, so warm, and doesn’t pull away. “Getting away?”

“Yeah, I had a place in mind,” Baekhyun says after a low hum. “Wanna come with?”

“It’s way past my bedtime, Baekhyun.” His words don’t concur with his heart, that is screaming _yes, yes, anything with you_. It’s a little scary, but it is also more exciting than anything.

“You’re boring, old man, you are. Come on, it’ll be fun,” Baekhyun insists, and Yixing sort of wants to tell him he would follow him anywhere and that persuading him is useless, but what’s the fun in that?

“Well,” starts Yixing, “I only have work starting eleven, on Fridays.”

“Yes, see? It works out perfectly—”

“But you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had, today, Baekhyunnie.” The nickname slips out of his tongue by accident, but Yixing feels Baekhyun smiling above him, and the warm sensation in his gut spreads.

“Even better, then,” replies Baekhyun. “It’ll relax you. Have fun, yeah? Live a little, come on, hyung, pretty please?”

A long, dramatic sigh escapes Yixing, but he can’t help the smile on his lips. “If it’s just for tonight…”

Suddenly, Baekhyun grabs his hand, pulling him up and making him lose his balance for a short moment. “Great! Just in time. This is our stop.”

When he takes a look around, Yixing recognizes the station to be Barbès-Rochechouart, with how the train is surrounded by the evening sky, high above them. When they get off, the autumn air hits them strongly, a cold wind whipping at Yixing’s cheeks. Baekhyun is still holding his hand, pulling at it insistently as they climb the stairs down to the boulevard.

“Have you eaten?” he asks when they start walking on the main street.

It’s bustling with people despite the late hour, cars honking loud and crowds of various faces walking past them. “Haven’t had a bite of anything since lunch, actually,” Yixing replies distractedly. “I’m starving.”

“Alright, _Monsieur_ , if you would follow me,” teases Baekhyun, and when Yixing looks at him, the smirk on his lips slowly turns into a genuine, excited smile, and Yixing giggles again.

They stop by a kebab place near the metro, each of them opting for pita sandwiches to go. They eat as they walk, garlic sauce smeared on their fingers and lips and Baekhyun cracking jokes as Yixing doubles over with laughter.

Barbès is nothing like the fancy neighborhoods of Paris—the district is heavily influenced by the strong Maghreb and African communities it hosts, and it’s noisy and raw in a way the other parts of the city aren’t. It’s not a tourist area, far from it, and maybe that’s what’s so attractive about it, in a way. As Yixing looks around, taking in the evening and the atmosphere, he feels a little out of place, amongst these people that all seem to know each other and speak tons of different languages he’s never heard before.

Still, despite it all, Yixing feels alive, at home, even in a country that isn’t his with a stranger he’s met a few weeks ago, on some lucky morning.

When they quickly finish their late-night snack, Baekhyun attaches himself on Yixing’s arm, pulling him through smaller streets that send shivers down Yixing’s spine. The streets are dark, narrow, buildings high and running old.

Baekhyun seems to pick up on his change of mood, and squeezes his arm. “No need to worry, scaredy cat. I’m here, remember?”

Yixing scoffs, but appreciates the contact. “What, like you’re gonna protect me or something? You’re tiny, Baekhyun.”

“You’re not even that much taller than me!” Baekhyun squeaks.

When Yixing smiles, he feels Baekhyun poke at his cheek where his dimple usually shows. “Hm, of course.”

After a few minutes of walking through smaller streets that reach up and make their thighs strain against the effort, they reach a set of stairs, and Yixing recognizes the area. “Montmartre? Really?”

“I’m a hopeless romantic, hyung,” Baekhyun sighs. “What’s better than Montmartre with a lovely companion like myself, on an evening like this?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s sleep, for one. In my bed, sheets warm and soft—”

“I can’t believe you’d choose your bed over me,” Baekhyun grunts, but he pushes Yixing towards the stairs, and Yixing laughs with a shout as he starts running up the steps.

Baekhyun screams back at him, and they’re probably way too loud at this time of the night, but Yixing can only hear the sound of their feet scrambling across the stone steps and Baekhyun’s loud laughter.

Yixing stops when he reaches the top, and Baekhyun stumbles on his back. Instead of pulling away, though, he laces his arms around Yixing’s waist. “We’re here,” he murmurs against the skin of Yixing’s neck, and Yixing skitters away from the touch with a high sound.

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. “Ticklish?”

“It’s my neck,” Yixing offers simply as an explanation. Then, he turns to the high, old building in front of them. “So, you took me to church. On a Thursday night.”

“It’s not just any church, you idiot,” Baekhyun mumbles. “The Sacré-Coeur counts amongst Paris’ most notable landmarks.”

“You’d make a great guide,” Yixing snorts.

“Oh, shut it. Come on,” Baekhyun says again, catching Yixing’s hand once more with his own and pulling him.

Yixing cannot help but smile, smile and smile again, because _this_ —this feeling in him, the buzz in his veins that makes his heart pound incredibly fast—is something he hasn’t felt in so long, that he gets to rediscover all over again, with the old city all around him and Baekhyun’s hand in his own.

When Baekhyun pulls him down on the grass, sitting next to each other with all of Paris offered before them, Yixing thinks the view really doesn’t compare to the one next to him, the sight of a man shining with happiness and passion and all the things about him that Yixing has slowly fallen in love with, from the few scattered moles on Baekhyun’s face to the soft texture of his faded hair.

They sit there and talk and talk and talk, and Yixing doesn’t even remember what they talk about as they do it but the conversation flows nonetheless and Baekhyun is so bright and alive next to him. Even under the moonlight, his eyes are like two stars of their own, shining immensely and pulling Yixing in.

It’s when the conversation suddenly cuts short, a silence falling between them, that Yixing throws caution to the wind and leans in, pressing his lips against Baekhyun’s.

It goes just like everything else goes between them—effortlessly, easily; like it was always meant to be.

Baekhyun kisses him back, lips pulling into a smile, and Yixing can’t help but giggle into his mouth. When he leans in again, their kiss is slower, more measured and deep and Yixing melts into it.

It’s easy, warm, and invigorating. When Yixing thinks about it again, later that night alone in his bed, he finds it ridiculously cliché, how this young, dreamlike boy suddenly found his way into his life and pulled him through the streets of Paris, just to kiss him under the night sky with the city below them. He’s slightly ashamed of how giddy and excited he gets just at the memory of their kiss, feeling his cheeks warm up even in the darkness of his bedroom, but he only sighs with contentment instead, letting sleep take over.

***

After that, it’s a little like they’re dating.

The first morning they stumbled onto each other, about two days later, Baekhyun greets Yixing with a quick peck on his lips, and Yixing is so stunned he stays unmoving for a beat.

“Uh, hello?” Baekhyun says with a nervous laugh, but Yixing only replies by pulling him with the collar of his shirt to properly press their mouths against each other.

Everything else remains; the songs, the small talk, and all that. The touches are more frequent, though, and there’s an underlying tenderness to them that Yixing absolutely loves.

And there’s kissing. Lots, lots of kissing.

When Baekhyun asks for his number, a few days later, he explains it’s because he sometimes miss Yixing’s voice, on some lonely evenings when even his brother’s company or the noisiest bars aren’t enough to tone down his solitude. Yixing gives it to him with a roll of his eyes, but he’s secretly glad, and he knows Baekhyun can see through him.

It turns out Baekhyun misses Yixing’s voice every evening, too, since Yixing now has the pleasure of receiving his calls night after night, just before going to bed. Sometimes, they get carried away and talk for hours on end, and Yixing knows he’s screwed when he notices his bedroom get lighter with the morning hours creeping in, but he’ll be damned if he can’t hear Baekhyun’s voice for just a little longer.

So, yeah. It’s a lot like they’re dating.

***

_December._

“I hate this so much.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You were fine before me, weren’t you?”

“It wasn’t the same, hyung.”

“You’re making this harder than it has to be, Baekhyunnie.”

“Can’t you stay a little longer? One night, just one?”

“The flight leaves tomorrow morning.”

Silence. They’re hugging again, because Yixing couldn’t help it, and he hears and feels Baekhyun breathe deeply. Around them, the Place de la République is slowly changing as the night creeps in, crowds fading and letting place for more and more couples; just like the two them, in a way.

“I’ll miss you, hyung.”

“I’ll miss you too, Baekhyun.”

“Don’t forget me, Zhang Yixing.”

“Never.”

***

_November._

“Can I come over?” asks Baekhyun, during one of their late night calls.

In fact, that night, Baekhyun had called much earlier than usual, explaining that his shift at the restaurant he usually works at on Saturdays was cancelled, and he’s now left with the entire evening free.

Yixing ponders his answer carefully. “Maybe,” he says, slowly. “But I warn you—my place is messy.”

“I don’t care. I’m messy too.”

A chuckle escapes Yixing. “And it’s very small.”

“You keep saying I’m tiny. I’ll fit in, I promise.”

“There isn’t much to do, either.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Baekhyun says, tone heavy. Something anchors itself deep in Yixing’s stomach, burning hot.

“Okay, all right,” Yixing concludes, before rattling his address to Baekhyun.

Baekhyun makes it to the front door of his small apartment in about twenty minutes. His messy hair is pale brown, now; the colour suits him incredibly, giving him a more mature look, although the playful malice in his eyes betrays him.

“You know,” Yixing muses as he opens the door for him, “I still don’t know where you live.”

Baekhyun winks. “It’s a secret, hyung.”

“Now that you’re here, though, you should tell me. I mean, you’re at _my_ place, right? So it’s only fair if I get to visit yours, too.”

Baekhyun’s curious looks make Yixing smile. He’s poking his head through every doorframe he can find, before returning to the main room, plopping down on the messy bed. “Uh. We’ll see.” He taps the spot next to him, something in between an invitation and a question. “Is this, like, a living bedroom?”

Yixing stretches himself on the bed as he replies. “Yeah. I told you this place is tiny. I don’t have the luxury to have both a living room and a bedroom, so I kind of merged both of them. At least I have a kitchen. It’s small, but it’s a kitchen.”

“Do you cook?”

“A little.”

“Would you cook for me?”

“No. You’re old enough to make your own food.”

Baekhyun throws a pillow at him, and Yixing catches it with a teasing smile. He settles further into the bed, sitting cross-legged on the mattress.

“What happens if you bring someone over?” Baekhyun asks. “Like, they see your bed as soon as they step in. Doesn’t that hint at something right away?”

“I guess it does,” Yixing muses. He narrows his eyes at Baekhyun, still smiling. “But I’m sort of seeing someone at the moment, so. That’s not a problem, right?”

Yixing is surprised to see the blush slowly making its way on Baekhyun’s face, and is even stunned when Baekhyun stutters out his reply. “Oh, I guess—I guess not, yeah.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Yixing carefully asks.

With a sudden start, Baekhyun turns to him, shaking his head vehemently. “No, no, not at all. God, no. I was just surprised.”

“Pleasantly surprised?”

“Yes. Absolutely, yes.” The blinding smile Baekhyun offers is enough to relax Yixing.

He reaches for Baekhyun blindly, his hand falling on his bicep, pulling him above him so that they’re parallel over each other. “So I guess that makes you my boyfriend, right?”

With eyebrows raising slowly, Baekhyun’s hopeful smile shifts into a teasing, suggestive smirk. “I guess so, yeah. Right, _boyfriend_?”

Yixing bites his lip. “Right.”

When they kiss, it’s messy and hungry but also beautiful, fulfilling. Yixing’s hands roam Baekhyun’s body entirely, and Baekhyun leans into the touch, curving into it, pressing down against Yixing as much as he can. The contact sends heat flooding his entire body, and it’s not unlike the warmth Yixing usually feels around Baekhyun, but it’s intensified, stronger and more piercing.

He recognizes the want in him, intoxicating, overwhelming.

Baekhyun is so responsive under his hands, small sounds coming from the deep of his throat, slightly high in pitch and making Yixing pull him closer, fingers slowly brushing against the skin under his shirt, pulling the fabric up.

Their legs get tangled with each other, their breaths get louder, and Baekhyun pants as he starts rutting against Yixing’s thigh. Yixing helps him, his hands sliding down to cup his ass, guiding gently and picking out each of the whimpers Baekhyun makes.

He feels himself get tighter in his pants, but there’s something more added to the lust gripping him tight. It’s delicious and sweet and intoxicating, overwhelming.

Baekhyun’s eyes are clouded, eyelids dropping and mouth falling open more and more as he keeps moving. “Yixing, I—if I keep going, I’ll—” He cuts himself off with a moan, and Yixing exhales a shaky breath.

“Come here,” he beckons, and Baekhyun goes easily, their lips meeting again, their kiss much slower and profound than before.

It’s crazy, Yixing thinks suddenly, how quickly he got addicted to the taste of Baekhyun’s mouth and tongue, or how quickly he fell for everything about Baekhyun, really. It’s not worrying, not at all; it’s only very interesting, how someone could shake up Yixing’s life just like that.

Yixing is reminded of the situation at hand when Baekhyun’s own leg presses between his own, Baekhyun nibbling on the exposed skin at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and Yixing chokes on a moan. The sound seems to affect Baekhyun, who swears under his breath, his pace picking up.

In the back of his mind, Yixing knows that if Baekhyun comes in his pants now, he’ll most likely make a mess of his clothes as well as Yixing’s own, and he’ll certainly have to stay the night and borrow a couple of spare clothes and a pair of underwear.

It’s a thought tucked very far in the back of his mind though, so he only moves his hips up against Baekhyun’s leg, and feels it as Baekhyun comes with a short cry, still dressed and burning hot above him.

It’s disgusting, but it’s also kind of hot, and Yixing blushes even through his own lust.

When Baekhyun comes back to his senses, he starts laughing, with short giggles at first before it turns into the loud laughter Yixing absolutely loves and that fills the entire room around them. Yixing laughs with him, peppering his face with small kisses that only make Baekhyun smile even further, eyes turning into a bundle of crinkles.

Yixing stops with a soft kiss on the tip of Baekhyun’s nose. “You like me that much, huh?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, hyung,” Baekhyun breathes out. His mouth is still very close and Yixing bites his lip, watches as Baekhyun’s eyes darken suddenly. “I’ve waited to do this for so long, I think I just got… overwhelmed.”

“Good thing we have all night ahead of us, then,” Yixing says, and it’s a proposition.

When Baekhyun smiles, showing his small teeth and making his cheeks round and pink, Yixing knows he’s won. “That’s a good thing indeed,” Baekhyun affirms, before chucking off his shirt and latching back onto Yixing’s mouth.

***

Sex with Baekhyun is all sorts of amazing.

It comes with a lot of teasing and bickering, and Baekhyun definitely doesn’t lack stamina, which is good because there is a lot of things Yixing wants to try out with Baekhyun, and it seemingly goes both ways.

But there’s also a lot of slow evenings, when it feels like it’s just the two of them in the middle of the night and they have all the time in the world, sighs and whimpers soft in the silence of the room only broken by their sounds and the rustle of the sheets under them.

Baekhyun becomes a frequent visitor, and sometimes they also just cuddle, watching some overrated dramas on Yixing’s laptop or simply talk, because that’s what they do best, really.

(Although Yixing thinks blowjobs are also their forte. Baekhyun’s mouth around him is the most obscene yet most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and judging by the praises he gets himself when he sucks Baekhyun off, he has a feeling he doesn’t do a bad job, either.)

But Yixing’s favourite thing is when they sing. The first time Baekhyun notices the guitar, hidden under his bed, he spends a good five minutes yelling at him for keeping that fact from him, before begging Yixing to play something.

And Yixing does play something, something he knows Baekhyun knows as well, and is utterly pleased when Baekhyun starts singing, his rich voice filling the entire apartment and settling in Yixing’s heart.

They might not be roaming Paris’ bars and cafés, but Yixing thinks it’s perfect anyway.

***

Eventually comes a time when Yixing has to announce his imminent departure to Baekhyun.

He decides to do it one morning, on the train, as the rain splatters heavy drops on the windows of the train as they escalate towards Jaurès.

Baekhyun has just finished singing, and sits next to Yixing.

There’s a knot in his throat. He swallows around it, and speaks.

“Baekhyunnie, I’m going back to China. In about two weeks.”

Baekhyun freezes, nods. He tries to smile, and Yixing knows he’s trying his best, but it looks fake and forced on his face, and Yixing hates it.

“We’ll figure something out, yeah?” Baekhyun pleads with his sad, sad smile, and Yixing nods vigorously, because they will, of course they will.

However, Baekhyun leaves without a kiss that morning, and Yixing feels a little empty.

***

_December._

“Here. I thought you’d want it back.”

Baekhyun pushes a small, yellow Post-It note into Yixing’s hand as he steps away. Yixing recognizes his own handwriting, the letters and characters messy as he isn’t used to writing anything other than Chinese.

_Place de la République, 2015/12/19. 6 PM._

_Meet me there?_

_— Xing-hyung_

The paper is crumbled in his hand and Yixing notices the trace of dried tears on it. It almost makes him cry, too, but he doesn’t.

He remembers how it all happened—how, after that morning in late November, Baekhyun had taken a week to show up again, as if he’d been avoiding the train they usually met at.

(Although, if Yixing’s fair, it’s a little crazy they happened to meet each other so often, in that very one train car of the Paris metro. He likes to think of it as fate, sometimes.)

When he showed up again, the same sad smile was plastered on Baekhyun’s face, and faint dark circles hung under his eyes. Yixing had pulled him in a hug, and slid the folded yellow note in Baekhyun’s beanie when he wasn’t looking.

Yixing hadn’t had the chance to see him again, until now.

He almost backed out of it himself, pacing in his apartment, nervous hands running again and again through his black hair as he cursed his ridiculous self. Yixing isn’t one to do things halfway, though, so he picked up his coat and went.

Now, Baekhyun is here, and they need to figure it out.

Yixing shoves the note in his pocket and produces another. It’s pink—bright, fluorescent pink—and it reminds him of Baekhyun, a little.

“My phone number,” he explains, taking Baekhyun’s hand as he puts the paper between his slender fingers, watching as Baekhyun clasps his hand around it. “In China. Give me a call, yeah?”

“Can I visit you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Will you be back?” Baekhyun asks, voice husky.

“I don’t know.”

“Aren’t I enough to keep you here?”

Yixing’s heart breaks. “You are, oh you are, Baekhyun. But it’s complicated.”

“Is it?”

“A little. Call me,” Yixing insists.

“You know I will,” Baekhyun scoffs. “I can’t stay away from your annoying voice.”

“You love my voice—”

“I love you.”

Yixing freezes. In fact, it feels as though the entire world freezes around him along with Baekhyun’s words, softly spoken, replaying in his mind.

_I love you._

It feels monumental and grandiose and it’s a little scary, but Yixing realizes then and there that it’s also not as scary as it seems, because he slowly comes to think that…

“I… I love you too. So much. I love you.”

Sad eyes look up to him, tearing up, but there’s a relief flooding them, and Baekhyun’s smile is happy, if not a little lopsided. It’s happy. He’s happy. “Good. Don’t you forget it.”

Yixing is caught off guard when Baekhyun pulls at the lapels of his coat, and their lips crash against each other, tears staining Baekhyun’s cheeks and Yixing can taste them in their kiss. He closes his eyes, cups Baekhyun’s face with both of his hands, kissing him gently, pouring all of his promises in his touch in a way he cannot do with words.

Baekhyun kisses him back just as fervently, as if he was reassuring him that he knows, he knows, and he’ll be here. He’ll wait. Yixing cannot be more in love, cannot feel warmer, than he does now.

When they pull away, Baekhyun laces his arms around Yixing’s neck, their foreheads touching. “Don’t you forget this. Don’t you forget me.”

“Never,” Yixing replies.

He means it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading ♥ Again, kudos and comments are always very nice... :)


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